Chapter 36. The Betrayer’s Blade

The air in the clearing turned to ice. Neriah’s voice, commanding and low, was the only sound breaking the sudden, terrible silence.

“Lyra, Lysandra. Show me your hands. Now.”

The two remaining followers froze. Lyra, the hunter, was the first to react, her movements slow, cautious, her eyes locked on Neriah with a mixture of confusion and fear. She was scarred, weathered, and known for her blunt loyalty—a wolf who fought with her teeth, not her words. She held out her calloused, dirt-stained hands, palms open.

“What is this, Your Grace?” Lyra asked, her voice rough with hurt. “We ran for hours to get you out of that cage. We’re all that’s left.”

Lysandra, the young courier, was terrified. Her eyes darted from Neriah to the knife, then to Lyra, her breath hitched in her throat. She, too, slowly raised her hands, which were smooth and unmarred, save for a few scratches from their desperate flight.

The betrayal felt like a fever dream. The message—tucked i